Mortality
by jazzy2may
Summary: What would happen if an Immortal's life were in the hands of angels and a certain cynical doctor? x-House -x-Touched by Angel. Slash DM/M. Don't like, don't read.


**If you Dislike stories like this please turn back now and do not read it or flame the author. Thank you.**

Title: **Mortality**   
Written by: Jazzy (June 2007©)  
Pairings: DM/M & J/B  
Rating: **Mature  
**  
_**WARNINGS: M/M Coupling. SLASH first time DM/M and some AU, certain Immortals have not died. Immortals, Sentinels, Angels, and Doctors, Religious stuff**_.

Fandom: The Sentinel -x-Highlander -x- Touched by an Angel-x- House M.D.

Characters to appear: The Cast of The Sentinel. The Cast of the Highlander (Films and TV) The Cast of the Touched by an Angel and the Cast of House M.D.

Summary: Mysterious Beheadings in Cascade. A Missing Amnesiac Teacher Found. Immortality Inexplicably Taken Away. Immortals Touched by Angels, a Sneering Doctor Trying to Find a Cure for a Dying Immortal Whom He Believes is a Mortal.

Oh what a mix of characters and plots! How will the author ever keep it all straight in her head!?

Work-In-Progress

**Chapter One**

A Mystery seemed to be unfolding in Cascade. Headless Bodies kept popping up. And a missing History Teacher, the third missing teacher in as many weeks. Did anything have anything to do with the other? Probably not but possibly however none of the bodies as yet had been identified as teachers.

Ellison sighed keyed his recent report and waited for his partner of four years to arrive in the bull pen from an academic meeting at the College, probably a discussion on the missing teachers saga. Blair was a quack in some academic corners but the college still loved him and tried to treat him fairly even after the fiasco with his Doctorate Thesis paper.

Mainly Blair worked with the Cascade Police Department, nearly full time now his attentions undivided and focused on his partner Detective James Ellison. Partner as in Domestic and Partner as in Police. They loved each other and weathered the tests that came their way. Things would settle down eventually but for the most part both men were content and in love with one another.

Things were good.

A voice woke him. A voice of love and light begged him to wake. It begged him to wake up and run and not give up. It told him to run to shelter to sanctuary. It was so dark where he was, so dark, but he woke and dug himself out of the dark. He followed his instincts and the feelings that guided him to a place he felt was sanctuary.

He woke with bruises and no memory of where he was or how he got there let alone who he was. Everything was a blur and he was in a lot of pain. Battered, he staggered down the alley into an abandoned church building. Holy ground, it called to him and soothed him even as he worried and felt somehow even with his clothes on naked and vulnerable. He didn't know why that was. He didn't know why his coat was missing or what the import of it was or why it bothered him that he felt like he was missing something very important. He sat on the church steps tired and aching. He needed to sit to rest, to gather his addled scrambled wits.

Several hours passed. Within those hours he'd managed to crawl inside the church and to fall asleep on one of the narrow uncomfortable wood benches. Shivering he woke to a tap on his shoulder and a concerned policeman's face.

"Come on pal, no sleeping in the church. Its time you went home."

The amnesiac man understood the English but what came out of his own mouth was something entirely different from the police officer's language. "Sanctuary"

The policeman frowned. "Do you understand English? Do you have a home to go to?"

The amnesiac tried to answer but sighed instead. He nodded to the first and shrugged in answer to the second question. The policeman frowned more then shined a light in his face and whistled low.

"Goodness buddy, someone worked you over real good. Let's get you to the station. Maybe we can find out who you are there, hum?"

The amnesiac sighed again then carefully followed the police officer outside the building. The ride was quiet and he managed to sleep some more but he did jolt awake every so often when a particularly nasty nightmare intruded into his dreamlessness. They arrived at last at the police department and amnesiac was carefully led inside the police HQ. Some of the cops joked and joshed each other made pointed remarks to the young officer leading him inside. Some made some rather nasty innuendos and racist jokes at the amnesiac's expense as well as the expense of the young officer.

The amnesiac bristled and made replies right back in the language he spoke which had a few of them floored after all what language was this fellow speaking? It wasn't Spanish, it wasn't Italian or Portuguese, or any other language they were familiar with. Though one old sod looked at the amnesiac in wonder and replied in a word or two of the same language.

"Hey, Pops, what language is that?" asked the young officer, in a friendly, inquisitive tone.

"Gaelic, my boy, its Gaelic, but not Irish Gaelic, its Scots! Haven't heard that tongue in many decades not since me Grandmum, not since I were a wee lad of four or five."

"Do you think you could translate for him?"

"Nah, don't know enough to speak it proper or fluidly. Just knows a word or two to recognize what it be is all." said the old timer.

Discouraged the young officer continued to escort the "Scotsman" to the waiting room. Then he thought of the friendly anthropologist upstairs in Major Crimes. Wasn't dead languages part of the man's livelihood?

Blair was intrigued as was Ellison. They traveled down to vice. Blair gaped, it was the missing history teacher. He recognized Macleod by the long onyx curls glossy and glowing despite the blood caked in it. The sculpted beautiful masculine features a mask of mottled yellows, greens, purples and reds, cuts added to the horrifying wounds of hate on his face and body.

"Duncan?" he gasped, bit his lower lip fought the tears in his eyes. "Oh my god, Duncan, what's happened to you?"

Duncan Macleod looked at the long haired youth. This person knew him? That name sounded right. Duncan. He was Duncan. That was his name.

The young officer smiled. "Duncan, its good to meet you."

Duncan smiled tenuously back. He understood English he just couldn't speak it right now. Maybe he would later. He turned to Blair and tried to talk to Blair and Blair calked his head to the side and didn't understand a single word from his mouth either.

Shaking his head ruefully Duncan retook his seat in the waiting room, holding to the small Styrofoam cup of hot coffee he'd been provided with. He was trying to soak in as much warmth from the tiny cup as he could. He was chilled to his marrow.

Duncan kept having some sort of flashback event flipping through his mind showing him impossible things, ages in the past, things from the present as well. Connor angry with him, arguing with him, it got hostile fast and violent almost drawing swords. Pain seared across his brain, his body jerked with it, reliving it, another face in shadow anger and promise of new and more inventive pain to come. He shied away from that memory.

He didn't want to remember that memory. He didn't want to recall that event, which seemed to make him live other past events, like a prisoner of war in World War? In some other war older still? Vietnam? He'd been a prisoner before. He'd been experimented on before. He didn't want to remember that, any of it. It was too horrible and painful.

Jim Ellison's blue eyes were sharp and seemed to see into him. Duncan blinked out of his fugue to stair into the piercing cold of winter. This man was familiar to him. Jim scented him, smelled his blood, his skin, smelled something else, something other, something familiar yet strange and dangerous.

Both men looked long into each other's eyes, testing, searching, finding something. The staring contest seemed to take hours but in reality was only a minute or two. Two wills opening up in curiosity towards the other.

Duncan finally opened his mouth and English came to his tongue. "Peru, South America, Iraq, Green Barrett. I know you."

Ellison stilled. Blinked. "MI-6, Captain Duncan Macleod. I know you as well. How did the bastards get the drop on you, Macleod."

Macleod furrowed his brow in thought. "Don't know, can't remember, maybe I don't want to remember."

"And no one here would blame you, Duncan." said Blair, reassuring.

Macleod's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Blame me for what?"

"Nothing, for nothing man, what I mean is, you've been through hell, its obvious. I mean look at you. You're battered and injured and your clothes are a mess and you know, your traumatized and its okay. We're here for you. And when you feel ready to remember you will remember and then you can provide us with a report and then we can hunt down the bad guy who hurt you and the other teachers who disappeared before you."

Macleod blinked took a moment to think then scowled. "Are you calling me a coward?"

"No, no one is thinking that or implying that or."

"Stop while you're ahead Chief. Macleod's Scottish and he has guilt down to an art form or rather brooding. Just let it go chief and when he's ready, like you said, he'll talk. Aint that right Macleod?"

Duncan frowned. "Possibility. I don't know. I can't remember anything. You're saying other teachers, (I'm a teacher?) have disappeared?"

"Yeah man, and you're the only one turned up so far. Which gives us some hope for the others. You're alive man, and that's good." said Blair, cheerfully yet seriously.

"I suppose it could be." Macleod ventured tenuous.

His body shivered as blood filled his mind's eye. It was a slaughter house. It was internment camp, it was indescribable pain. A face sneered at him. He fell off his chair let his coffee fly and began fighting in earnest. Ellison took the blows and tried to still Macleod, tried to get him to come back away from the nightmare in his mind. The police squads watched as Ellison and Macleod fought. Macleod not seeing Ellison but an enemy. His nose flared eyes focused on Ellison like panther meeting panther and Blair had to wonder was Macleod a Sentinel?

Macleod was power and grace, agility and strength. He was well matched with Ellison but Ellison didn't seem to have the same training or wasn't at the same level as Macleod was. Ellison was barely making a dent in Macleod's defenses let alone keeping Macleod out of his weak areas. Jim grunted, gasped as a rib cracked.

"Captain Macleod!" he finally screamed, somehow finding the strength to bring forward his power as an officer, putting in his tone enough to startle the man out of his flash back.

Macleod instantly stilled and stood at attention. "Captain Ellison?" he ventured as he had that long ago day nearly a decade or more ago.

"Its Detective Ellison now, just as you are now only Duncan Macleod."

Duncan looked around the bull pen at the people staring at them. He looked at Ellison and noted his pallor at the way his body shielded an injury. "You are injured. Your rib."

Ellison grunted. Macleod grinned.

"Still got a good eye Mac. Why didn't you ever go into medicine?"

Macleod shrugged. "Not strong hearted enough, I think. Besides I enjoy teaching. You're out of practice and out of shape Mr Ellison." Then he stilled and he laughed. "Oh my god that was incredible I just remembered I'm a teacher and I love teaching. And I know you. I remember you. The jungle, the mats. The joined unit we were in together for that one mission. Classified of course and can never be spoken of. But good god I remember you." He smiled in wonder, like a little child given his most precious gift.

Then his smile turned to a frown of pain. He staggered clutched at his torso and began to cough up blood. Jim reached for his old combat buddy and friend and held on to him as his weight brought them both to the floor. Blair was frantically giving orders of:

"Call Ambulance Assistance."

"You and you, help Jim."

Captain Simon Banks was now entering the fray, demanding. 'Ellison, Sandburg, what the Hell is going on down here?"

"Sorry Captain, we'll explain later. Right now we have to get Duncan to a hospital."

Right about then the assistance crew arrived, medics quickly gathered around the bleeding Macleod. Jim whispering in his ear.

"Don't die. You can't die yet. We have to find the bad guys. Hang on Macleod you're one tough son of a bitch and I don't want to see you die. Hang on. Just hang on."

"Please sir, relinquish him into our care. We can get him to the hospital and he might survive, sir. But we need to act now. Please sir, let him go."

Ellison did as they asked him to but he held on to Macleod's hand and rode in the ambulance with him to the hospital. All of his senses focused on Macleod. He was different from thirteen years ago. There was something missing from him. Something vital to him. Ellison watched the team trying to fight a losing battle. Ellison could smell the blood and decay. Death was coming for Macleod.

"Fight, damn you, fight. Don't let a murderer get away." Jim hissed.

Macleod was easily one of the most iron willed men Ellison had ever met. His heart was giant, compassionate, but one thing he held even more strongly to was the sense of Right and Wrong and Justice. Macleod would have made an excellent cop, but he would have burned out all too quickly. He was the kind of guy who would let any one mooch off of him, sleep on his couch, even give the clothes off his back to someone in need. Macleod wasn't a saint but he sure came close to it, in Ellison's book.

Sentinel eyes saw that Macleod hadn't aged a day in thirteen years, but it could just be really good genes. Genetics, or plastic surgery, but being a cop he saw enough plastic surgery to know that it sure as hell wasn't plastic surgery that kept Macleod looking no older than thirty, no older than the first day he'd met him.

Macleod had been beautiful even by men's standards. He was a god. He moved like a panther grace and power. His uniform fit him perfectly and Ellison who kept telling himself he was straight was having some hard times keeping to the manly motto of manly men. Macleod challenged him, hell Macleod challenged a few others as well. They tried to make him pay for making them feel uncomfortable attracted to him but Macleod took the jokes and turned them on to the men who taunted him. 

Macleod laughed with them even drove them hard. His own unit protected him from some of the worst of the jokes. Circled him and kept guard over him. Once the hazing stopped and the hard core jokers were put down and learned their place, Macleod became at least to Ellison easy to know. The man was a leader and he looked at every angle and searched his conscience night after night and held himself to a higher rigid sense of morals and ethics than any other man Ellison had yet to meet even Blair who could argue philosophy had nothing on the deep thoughts of Duncan Macleod.

"Come on Duncan, don't let the bad guy win."

Methos was frantic though he played it cool around Joe or any of the watchers. Richie Ryan though could tell Methos was acting weird. When two men took turns mooching off the same guy, well you tended to get to know each other pretty well, and he knew one other thing about Methos, since the double quickening. It had taken hard work to remake their friendship and at first even Richie had been ready to see the other Immortal beheaded because of the sense of pain and betrayal he had given to Mac, but once the pain was done and the betrayal forgiven Richie had seen that Methos had put up with a lot from Mac and for what?

For friendships' sake? Ha!

Richie Ryan wasn't born yesterday, well maybe, by the older odd couple Immortals that they were, standards, but one thing Richie Ryan did not doubt was that Methos was in love with Mac and vice versa.

Sure it hadn't been easy to accept and he still doubted he would be able to handle it if they made out in front of him but he was working on that. Working on his image of Mac and his image of people. That's why he'd been renting such things as "Six Feet Under" "OZ" the "L-Word" and "Queer as Folks" and other Gay and Lesbian titles from his special internet dvd rental place "NetFlix." He was anonymous and the DVDs came in little red envelopes and no one but him and some person at NetFlix knew that he was renting these highly interesting, controversial and somewhat embarrassing (for him) titles. Richie had a POBox that they came to every few days or so to and a little room he rented to watch his dvds in private in. He was being sneaky and weird but at least neither one of his teachers and especially Mac would ever find out about his DVD fetishes and tease him mercilessly for the next several centuries over.

Though the two men seemed to play it down and never once reached out to the other to make the love turn real. Richie never wavered in his suspicions about them. Maybe the reason neither man seemed willing to make that love real was because Mac was too raw, too wild, too much for an old codger like Methos. Maybe Mac doubted himself attractive enough or cerebral enough to keep Methos. Maybe Macleod was over thinking the whole thing. Methos seemed like a pretty simple kind of guy once you ignored his dark past. The man was easily amused, did nothing around the house but sleep eat and drink beer, get into the occasional tale telling and ethical arguments. But mainly the man had simple needs and simple wants and Macleod seemed to meet those needs readily and often.

Maybe Mac's confidence needed a boost. Maybe Mac needed to stop over thinking it.

Richie could see Mac's disappearance was turning the man for a loop. Hell he himself was a bit of a basket case. But something was off about Methos. He kept glaring out into the night every time they were on the barge or at the dojo. Both men actively searching for Macleod. Methos was also actively becoming his second teacher and most hard to please teacher. The man was crafty, shrewd and never pulled a punch or failed to let the knife hit home. The last few weeks though had been more intense. Methos looked anguished every now and again and when he was really drunk and wasted, three sheets to the wind he would talk about Macleod.

"We have a connection he and I. Double quickening Rich, never let yourself get involved in a double quickening. I haven't felt his quickening Richie. This is a real concern. If I can't feel his quickening then he's dead. He's lost his head to someone."

"Don't talk like that, man. He's the best. He can't lose."

"We can all lose. All it takes is a slip, some twist of fate's little quirky humor. All it takes is someone better than you are and you're gone. Fate's a bitch that way Rich. Look inside your own heart and you'll know he's not there any more Richie. Duncan makes connections, makes clan out of his friends, and they can feel him inside their hearts, every last one of them. it's a warmth and purity that's suddenly absent and my soul as well as their souls, craves it, Richie. But Rich, his quickening belongs to me. If I can't have the blasted man himself than I want his quickening! I don't ever want to lose him Rich. Not ever and that's terrifying."

"Yeah, love is terrifying." agreed Richie patting the oldest Immortal's shoulder and then quickly covering him with a blanket because it was what Mac would have done. Methos was out cold now. He had to think some more on what the old guy was talking about. Yeah, he'd been feeling a stranger kind of restlessness a hole growing but really that couldn't be because Mac was gone, it just couldn't be.

Mac wasn't someone anyone could beat. He always wins, always somehow makes it through the odds even when they're stacked so far up against him that there's no sign of the sun behind the odds. Mac always wins. Always. He was going to live forever and Richie and Methos would mooch off of him for eternity.

Richie had to think about things. Where was Mac? Could it be possible for Mac to lose? What would he or Methos be without Mac around? Life would be harder, maybe a little simpler but bereft. Mac was their leader, their moral compass. Without him, well he didn't know what that would make them. On their own yes. Drifters, homeless, without family, Kin-less or Clan-less. They would be alone.

One by one, each one felt it, the absence. For some it was instant for others it had been slow unconscious effect.

Kit O'Grady's dice fell from his hand and rolled a perfect score, he had won the pot, the prize of a couple million dollars in high stakes poker however instead of cheering and enjoying the hard won gains he felt the cold chill of death on his spine. Winter chilled the summer that usually resided in his soul.

"Duncan." he whispered. Unaware of the tears, sparkling in his eyes. His team of admirers mistook his tears for the tears of joy that they each had in their eyes for their friend's end of bad luck.

"Who? Who took his quickening? Duncan? My god, not Duncan."

Rage slowly began to burn. For the first time in his philanthropist's heart, in his gambler's go lucky heart, he thirst for revenge. He'd hunt the son of a bitch that had taken his friend's head.

Walter Graham choked out some obscure mix of original poetry and depressing Shakespearian babble. Some of it even from the Taming of the Shrew. The play he had directed and his dear friend had starred in. He'd been a vision, a true vision and too generous and too kind in his nature for this cold cruel unfeeling world.

"Winter night where there was summer light. He's fallen Brethren."

Claudia looked at her maniac admirer, protector, and teacher. "Who? What are you talking about?"

Walter's eyes filled with grief. "Duncan's been taken." he gasped out through the tightening in his throat. He howled in pain clutching at his beloved muse of the present. Claudia bit back on her own tears.

"No, it can't be possible, Walter, Walter, it can't be possible. How do you know? How can you be so certain?"

Walter was inconsolable and pretty much incomprehensible. Claudia refused to believe that her friend and sponsor was dead.

Who would kill Duncan?

What monster had hurt Duncan?

Duncan who was so kind and really for a five hundred year old man pretty much a naïve easily manipulated kind of guy, a heart on his sleeve kind of man who was too honorable and too good for his or anyone else's own good. He was going to be missed dearly. She cried. How dared he die. How dared he get himself killed. How dared he trust the wrong Immortal. She decided right there that she was going to go hunting, that she and Walter were going to avenge the death of their dearest and sweetest friend.

Connor Macleod listened to the wind and let his quickening expand and reach out to all the world he could touch, which was quite a bit of world, but mostly he directed his quickening towards his heart's fondness, his kinsman, his clansman, Duncan Macleod. His quickening lurched to a stop and receded as if singed, like a finger burned on the stove top due to careless inattention.

"Duncan!" he screamed. "Duncan!"

"MACLEOD!"

"MACLEOD!" his voice choked and broke and he gasped over and over from the pain, from the absence of that most beloved quickening. He once again reached out with his quickening desperately searching for any sign of his clansman, any little bit of him anywhere in anyone of their kind.

He felt an instant answer ring in his heart. There was one who was ancient who had a little bit of Duncan within. He reached out for that old one and felt Methos touch back. He flinched and felt his heart squeeze painfully. No, this one did not take his cousin's head. But he had a little bit of Duncan with him always from the shared quickening from the year or two before.

Duncan was missing and he too was desperately searching for their clan leader, for their heart.

Tears streamed down Connor's cheeks as he made up his mind and decided on a course of action and a destination.

They would find him or if not then kill the son of a bitch that had taken Duncan's head.

In the library Methos felt numbness sink into his every bit of bone and flesh. He felt suddenly every bit of his five thousand odd years of long immortal life. He felt bereft of the sun, trapped in some cave somewhere dark and dank and drafty. He huddled into his purloined Duncan Macleod sweater, not even aware that he had dropped his stack of papers and books and was on his knees, drowning on the tears he couldn't even feel choking him, the pain was intense, the agony of realization of finally accepting some horrible reality, he knew, had known for weeks that something had happened to Duncan.

That Duncan was dead, gone, his quickening gone, his life blown out like the candles that used to light his libraries in his early years by great overpowering gusts of wind. Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod was dead and his clan of today were lost and in mourning for him.

His peers were concerned and students tried to help him to the nurses' offices but Methos couldn't move. He was broken. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, Macleod was gone and his life felt empty. He hadn't felt nearly this much pain for anyone, not even for Silas or any of his dead wives or students or adopted children. He was a cynical old man who was familiar with death and had been weak once and given into the despair of it and now he felt that again only worse because without Macleod he could never feel alive, never feel even the remotest sense of redemption.

The De Valincourts were stopped in their tracks motionless when they felt their friend's passing. Fitz stood stock still as well his pipe leaving his mouth with his gasp of pain.

"Laddie, no. No, Duncan, you bastard what have ye done now?"

"Oh Fitz!" cried Gina, weeping. "Duncan's g-go-gone." she wailed.

Robert helplessly hugged his wife and hid his own tear streaked face.

"I can't believe he's really gone."

"He can't be. We must be mistaken." insisted Gina, painfully, trying to deny the truth of their hearts.

"I'm sorry, my dearest Lady, but he's gone. He's not in me anymore. His warmth in my soul is gone." insisted Fitz brokenly.

"Oh Gina, oh my dearest. Oh Gina." wept Robert.

"We're are going to find the bastard who did this and we are going to make him pay." growled Gina, eyes glittering rage. She insisted on avenging, her dearest friend, Duncan. The other two men quickly vowed to do as she wanted of them. The trio was staunch in their thirst for revenge.

Nick Wolfe in Quebec, Canada, watched his beloved teacher and fiancé break down in to fits of sobs and screams, speaking ancient French and English, screaming "NO, no, no, no, no, NO!"

"Not Macleod, not Duncan, he's not supposed to die. He's not supposed to die."

She kept ranting and screaming like a madwoman. Tears streaming, bitterly weeping and still trying to deny the death of her oldest and dearest friend, of her on again off again boyfriend.

"He was the best of us. The best of us. How do we hope to live if he is dead?" she asked Nick. "How do we live? How?"

Nick gathered her into his arms and held on for the emotional storm that Amanda let out on him and their home. By the time she was done it looked like a tornado had hit the house's inner rooms. When she had expelled every tear and every word and broken every piece of furniture and glass in their home she turned to Nick, eyes glittering with rage.

"We're going hunting, my darling. I will not allow, some scum to walk around out there with my friend's quickening in their soul. Duncan would want his quickening to come to rest in one of his friends, not his slayer."

Nick had no choice but to follow her lead. If it meant they would have a life together when the hunt was over than he would follow her even into hell and back out again. God, how he loved this woman.

Touched by An Angel

Monica sat with her friends fellow Angel Tess gazing at the new sunrise feeling a sense of peace and balance return to them from Heaven's light.

A dove winged down and Tess looked to Monica, "Well, baby girl, we've just got our next assignment and boy is this one a doozy. Usually its Arc Angel that take care of these fellows but today its going to be you and me. They've got a unique perspective on things."

"What do you mean Tess?" asked Monica confused and concerned. Arc Angel projects don't usually land into case workers hands.

"You'll see, its a mess down there."

Her first day in Cascade's emergency room while on a routine doctor swap she was only supposed to be in Cascade for two weeks, Dr Ann Lindsay never thought the day would come when she would see her Immortal friend on a stretcher showing wounds that he was obviously not healing from. She was seriously worried and wasn't sure who she would contact. Duncan's cousin Connor was at the top of the list but no phone number where to reach the elusive kinsman at.

She had no clue how to proceed with an Immortal who wasn't healing but she knew how to care for a patient who was mortal and dying. She worked on him for hours until his vitals started showing good signs but she was worried at the wet sounds emanating from his lungs, it sounded like a secondary infection or pneumonia brewing.

She looked to Officers Ellison and Sandburg. "Where did you find him? How did he get in this condition?" she demanded.

"We don't know. Mac, just showed up on a routine patrol, busted up and out of it, amnesia, talking in Gaelic, he seemed to recognize Jim for a moment." explained Blair. "But then he collapsed and had some kind of seizure."

"He was found seeking sanctuary in an old abandoned church down by the docks." further answered Ellison.

"That would make sense, somewhat. Mac always believed very strongly in the safety of Holy ground. If he needed safety or reassurance he, we could always find him in some church yard or graveyard." said Dr. Lindsay not completely mollified. Mac was still very much a part of hers and Mary's lives. His disappearance a few weeks ago had really shaken her and little Mary up a lot.

"Perhaps, Mac has been exposed to some sort of toxin or something." she murmured almost to herself, making notes, to further observe Mac's reactions to certain drugs and foods in the future.

"Dr. Lindsay, you know the patient, you shouldn't be the one working on him. He'll need you at his side when he wakes." insisted one of her associates.

"Do you know if he has any relatives, Dr. Lindsay or other friends we can contact that would like to know Duncan Macleod has been found?" asked Jim Ellison still the consummate officer.

Blair frowned as Dr Lindsay took a moment to think. "Yes." she finally slowly replied. "But they're hard to find and even harder to contact by phone. But I think I know of at least one person that can track them all down. Duncan's health is very fragile right now. He'll be lucky to survive the next few nights. Hopefully the antibiotics will kick in and our tests will come back with a few answers for his seizures and whatever damages have been done to his body."

"If we can get his statement or have need for him to testify, what is your opinion on the possibility that he'll be around for that?" asked Ellison again professional and dispassionate.

Blair frowned at his partner. Jim was acting odd. Jim was holding back his feelings. Macleod was an old friend and an army buddy that meant strong feelings. Maybe Jim was preparing for the worst. Duncan's death.

Dr. Ann Lindsay blinked back tears. "I don't know. In all honesty Mac shouldn't be this injured. He shouldn't even be in this condition. He should be healthy and... and .. oh god." she bit down on her lips hoping not to let any more slip out. She was worried and she didn't want to give away Mac's secret.

"I know what you mean." said Blair compassionately, sympathetically. "Mac and I work for the same University in Cascade. I'm a part time professor there as is Mac. We became friends and its hard seeing him like this."

"Yes, yes, very hard." said Ann covering for her slips from before. She was shaking now and decided to leave them alone and take her leave from the hospital so she could go to one of Joe Dawson's bars. She would leave a message for Joe and she knew Joe would pass it along to Richie and the rest of the Immortals and other friends of Macleod's.

TBC

Monica dressed in her nurse's uniform materialized by Duncan's bed. She stroked his brow.

"Fear not. You have a long way to go, but I will be with you through all of this. Through the hard times that are coming. God is with you and he loves you so very much, Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod."

Duncan relaxed in his sleep hearing her voice and feeling comforted by her touch, though he wished for one other's touch next to hers. If only he could remember the name of the face in his mind. If only he could remember for whom his heart longed to see again.

Tess materialized in Joe's Bar. Her old friend Joe saw her and smiled his warmest most brightest. "Well if it isn't the countess of blues come to my lowly little bar."

"Never lowly, Joseph Dawson." she assured him with an easy warmth and enveloped him in a loving hug.

"Play a song with me Tess." he asked. "Its been so long since I last heard you sing. My heart misses it."

"You charmer you, but I can't right now Joseph, I have to let you know something important."

Joe stood still and gave her his full attention. She shined with the light of heaven. Her true identity was known instantly to him. His heart squeezed. An Angel a real honest to God Angel in his bar, talking to him. Tess was an Angel! Holy sh- Holy cow!

"Your friend Duncan Macleod is going to need you. He is going to need all of his friends very soon. You see Joseph, he is going to be traveling a hard journey here on earth over the next few months and in the end his reward will be to come home."

"Home? Tess what are you saying, here? Is someone going to be taking Duncan's head? No way, not Duncan. Not the Highlander. No one can beat Duncan." He saw her expression, all of its love all of its sympathy and he felt tears in his eyes. "Is there nothing I can do to prevent this from happening?"

"No Joseph, its not that simple. He need's your love and your strength as will his clan of Immortals and Mortals alike. You must be strong now Joseph, and know that God is always with you. Call my name and I will come and walk with you and make your heavy load lighter."

Joseph shook as she disappeared from his material world. He felt empty but renewed somehow. He felt his strength bolstered. He would do all that he could and be there as he must for the Highlander and Methos and Richie and all the rest of Duncan's long list of Honorary Clan members.

"Oh God, this is going to be hard."

"I know, but **He** is with you and we both know you can bear this as you must." whispered Tess into his heart.

The phone kept ringing and Joe kept picking it up to answer anxious questions from frantic Immortals and Mortal Watchers alike. He told the Immortals to come to his bar and he would meet with them and tell them to their faces what had happened to Duncan.

Doctor Ann Lindsay's phone call helped him to know where Macleod was and from there he was able to use that information to try to calm Duncan's frantic grief stricken friends. Joe wasn't too pleased that every one seemed to have his number or knew about him as Duncan's watcher. What was Joe, Duncan's personal answering service?

"We don't know what's wrong with him Joe. He's very ill. He's been injured. He was one of the kidnapped teachers in the news." Anne explained, her voice hurried and low over the phone. "The police are everywhere. I can't move him. He's an important witness in their case against some big time serial murderer. But Cascade is not equipped to deal with this. He needs someone more talented, a diagnostician over in New Jersey could tell us what was wrong with Duncan, possibly even cure him. If you can get a hold of his cousin or his solicitors, whoever has power of attorney, maybe we can fly him out to Princeton Hospital." said Anne, upset and trying to keep it cool. She was tired of crying. She'd been crying for hours. "I think he's, I think he's dying Joe. I think his only chance is in New Jersey. Princeton New Jersey. I gotta go. Detective Ellison is heading my way. Bye."

"I'll see what I can do Anne." assured Joe as the phone clicked off.

Matthew McCormick and his student Corey Raynes entered the bar. Matthew was still in the FBI. He came to Seacover to tell Joe Dawson where Macleod had been found. Adam had contacted him a while ago about their missing friend. The troubling sensation that Mac was not in his heart was odd and did not speak well of their friend's current situation.

Dawson smiled at the staunch agent and the "robin hood" of the immortals. "You guys can tell me about Macleod when the rest of them arrive later this evening." he said and poured them each a drink of choice.

The Immortals came to Joe's bar to gather and hear what Duncan's watcher had to say to them before they could go out hunting the murderer who had taken Duncan's head.

Richie and Methos were at Joe's first. The DeValicourts and Fitzcairn arrived secondly. Gina was impatient but would wait for the others. She looked to Macleod's students and hugged them. She still hadn't a clue that Adam Pierson was Macleod's "teacher" and the most ancient of them all, Methos. What she did know though was that Macleod loved Adam, even if he hadn't admitted it yet. The two would have made a very fetching couple in the years to come but now that future would never be. Duncan was dead and they all would hunt down the villain who had killed him.

Next to arrive was Kit O'Grady along with Walter Graham and Claudia Jardine. The final three immortals to arrive at the bar were Connor and the beautiful thief Amanda Deverieux and her detective partner newly Immortal Nick Wolfe. Joe hurried them all into his private office poured them all drinks and then settled to business.

"As you all know, or probably suspect, Mac's been missing over the last three weeks. Now first off I have to say is. No one has taken his quickening. Duncan isn't dead yet. He's alive. He's in Cascade, to be more specific he's in the hospital. Dr Ann Lindsay called me earlier this morning and told me Duncan had been found in an abandoned church on some docks somewhere in Cascade. He was incoherent, traumatized and injured. His injuries persist. He's not healing. We think he might have been exposed to something that may be delaying his natural healing abilities. Or the impossible has happened and Duncan has become mortal. Either way, he's not in a good condition and worse yet the police need him to testify against some big bad serial murderer."

Methos stilled and straightened his posture. "He would be, wouldn't he. Its just his luck. Let me guess he was one of the teachers kidnapped, wasn't he? I know about that case, its been in the news for months. Teachers disappearing and a rash outbreak of beheadings in the area. Of course Macleod would be in the thick of it."

Matthew sighed. "yes, he would be. He's exactly where Joe says he is. I have been assigned to the case. I'm helping Detective Ellison and the special crimes unit over there in Cascade. I haven't gone to visit Duncan yet. I was coming to get Adam and Richie. I've heard Duncan is disoriented and has very little memory of who or even what he is. I thought with his student and friend there perhaps it would jar something."

Connor snorted. "He's in a bad way. He can't testify. You know that. He's an Immortal he can't be apart of this case against this mortal murderer of theirs. We need to get him home and get him to a place of quiet and sanctuary so that he can meditate and think and come back as his own cousin."

"If only it were that simple." muttered Methos, knowing full well how stubborn Duncan could be. The man hated dying and coming back as some brother or cousin or son, it disrupted his life. Duncan hated having his routines interrupted.

Connor glared at Adam. "It is. If I say to do so, he will do so. I am both his teacher and his elder. Duncan will listen and do as I tell him to."

Methos raised an eyebrow at that. Connor grumbled swigged down another gulp of harsh scotch. "You're right, stubborn brat. He's always been a difficult student but if he has memory loss he will be clingy and maybe just once do as he is told."

"So he's had amnesia before?" asked Richie.

Connor sighed. "Aye, he hit his head once, falling off a cliff, it took months before he was himself again. He was addled. Seriously disoriented said he was seeing fairies and things from the shadow world, oh and he called me uncle. It was somewhat amusing except when he tried to hack me to death a time or two. He was fast, he'd strike then run away and disappear into the trees and bush while I lay on the ground bleeding out my guts. Once I revived I hunted him down dragged him out of his hiding places and then did my best to make him remember not to kill me anymore. I was never more grateful when one morning he woke up and knew me as Connor. Of course it helped that he looked like a drowned cat because I held him under water till he came to his senses. He was stubborn it took a lot of dunkings before he came back to himself."

Methos grinned at that story. He imagined it was very satisfying for Connor as the other irascible immortal couldn't stop smiling at the memories of it.

"That seems so mean." said Richie. Gina agreed with the younger immortal.

"Poor Duncan, to have such a teacher as yourself Connor MacLeod and you call yourself his kin." she frowned at him unhappily.

Connor shrugged. "It worked and my teachings have kept Duncan alive this long woman. I wasn't heartless. He was a child in mind only at the time and I tried to treat him well and for the most part I succeeded. Let's see how well you hold up when some whelp is killing you five days out of seven and out of his mind with fear."

Gina sniffed and turned her attentions to her husband Robert who seemed fascinated by the tale.

The immortals felt cheered that their friend was alive but not happy that something weird was going on with their friend and that he may be compromised in the mortal world.

"We need to go there get the lad out of that hospital, first things first." insisted Fitzcairn.

"Yes, there is no question of that." Insisted Walter.

"All right, we're all agreed. We'll arrive in Cascade tomorrow afternoon and as a group insist on our friend's release." said Kit happy that his friend was alive.

Amanda frowned. "Is he in custody?"

Matthew shrugged. "Protective I suppose. The major crimes unit want to get the murderer, Duncan is as of this moment the only survivor. But they don't know if the man they're after really is a murderer, right now all we know for certain is that he is a serial kidnapper."

"This definitely complicates things." said Methos.

Tess watched from her ethereal realm. Methos, her heart ached for the ancient Immortal. He had lived longer than most and seen so many go home. For an Angel it was a joy to help a human to reach heaven but she knew that humans didn't take the death of their loved ones well and Methos took things very hard though he tried not to let others know of it. His years weighed on him and she suspected that this latest loss in a long line of losses would be the most difficult of all.

TBC

Cassandra felt Duncan's absence and was worried. She tried to send her dreaming mind out to Duncan to touch his quickening and reassure herself that he was still alive. When she was unable to find his quickening her heart grew chilled and cold with certainty the horseman had killed her highland child. She had warned Macleod of his deceitful ways but Duncan had dared not listen to her. His foolish heart had gotten him killed.

She wept while she prepared herself for reckoning she would reap on the horseman once called death.

Princeton, New Jersey

HOUSE M.D.

Dr. Cutty, Dr. Gragory House, and Dr.Wilson were in a meeting. Cameron, Chace and Foreman wondered what the meeting was about. Dr.House had of course been irritated by the interruption in his day of watching soap operas and tormenting his patients in the clinic. Yet he'd been weirdly upbeat lately, he even smiled from time to time. Maybe the man was getting laid, who knew.

Cutty looked at the two men in front of her. "We're having the patient flown in from Cascade, from the mid-west region. He was a victim of a traumatizing kidnapping case. He was tortured and nearly killed, signs of being buried alive still persist. He's in and out of a coma, has memory loss, and is in desperate pain. His doctors have no clue what's wrong with him. His family is rich, influential and strong headed. He has a large family, they're all coming to our hospital. I don't think I have to spell out what all of this means."

"No, if we cure him, there's more money for the hospital. A criminal gets put behind bars. Oh and the family will reign over us like that nasty fellow with his One Hundred Million dollars did." snapped House, scowling. "Two positives and a negative. This case sounds more mental than physical. Why not take him to psychologist? Oh, wait, let me guess, the coma, right. If he's asleep we can't fix him. We have that in common with the psychiatric practices. No consciousness no telling us what we're doing wrong." sneered, House.

"Then let his body tell us what we're doing wrong." said Wilson. "Isn't that one of your sayings, Greg?"

"No fair Wilson, spitting my words back in my face. What do you want us to do about this guy?" asked House stubbornly. "Do we have his files, his records, his lab work?"

"Yes." said Cutty. "They arrived this morning, by courier. Have a glance at them, maybe you can make out what the problem is alone from his files."

House looked at the files and frowned. "No childhood ailments? No records dating back years. Just records dating back the last three weeks. Good God, this man could be a medical miracle. I'm intrigued. Yet, what's doing this to him now? It looks like cancer Wilson. What does Oncology have to say about the findings?"

Dr. Wilson looked uncomfortable. "I believe its cancer and it's a progressive aggressive kind, no cure. He's terminal."

House paused. "Well, that's no fun. What are we supposed to do Wilson, make his last few days on earth a pleasant doped up one? What do they expect from me, a miracle? Do I look like God to you?"

"No, but He's given you an amazing talent and amazing gifts, Dr House." said Monica from the ether. "You must use them to try and help Macleod and his family come to terms with his death."

House frowned, as an odd Irish lilt entered his head. He fought against the words and the feeling behind them. Life was hard. People died. He didn't want to watch another one die. His job was to heal them. If he couldn't heal them than he wanted nothing to do with them. He wanted nothing to do with the reminders of failure and hopelessness.

"Never hopeless, Dr. House. Stop despairing and you might find hope." said the Irish voice. "Perhaps, a miracle may even come your way."

It wasn't easy for any of them seeing Macleod in this condition. He was pale almost bloodless. He was bruised and battered, frail looking. He was hooked up to little tubes and IV needles, asleep in his hospital bed. He looked very much like a cancer patient or some prisoner from an intern camp. Methos choked back a wobbly breath and fought the tears that threatened his eyes as memory flashes of Alexa came to assault him. This couldn't be happening. Macleod was an Immortal he couldn't be dying, it was impossible. Duncan shouldn't be here, shouldn't be in a hospital. His bronze skin shouldn't be paper thin and pale as a ghosts.

"He's supposed to live forever." he murmured shakily. "he's not supposed to die like this. Some bad man is supposed to eventually cut off his stubborn honorable head or else he's supposed to win the bloody prize. He's not supposed to be here like this." His grief began to turn to anger.

Richie's hand gripped his shoulder and Connor Macleod gripped his arm.

Gina and Robert, Amanda and Nick, Walter and Kit stood back from the bed and like Methos they had a hard time believing their eyes as well as their senses. Non of them could feel Duncan. Not his Immortal presence and not the strand of golden sun he'd always been in their souls. Matthew McCormick, Corey Raynes, and Detectives Blair Sandberg and Jim Ellison stood outside the door along with the rest of major crimes. They would keep the only living witness safe and hope for a medical miracle to happen.

Simon was disturbed that a dying man was the only living witness and their only hope to a clue about the whereabouts of the missing teachers. Jim was acting off, more subdued, of course Simon understood that Macleod had been some kind of army buddy of his back when. But Macleod barely looked thirty, he must have been just a kid when Ellison had known him last.

Duncan was mortal. Duncan was mortal and not pre-immortal. No signature presence of any kind emanated from him. It was as if something had drained the life and quickening right out of him.

Monica slipped in from behind the huddled group of Immortals and family members. "Hello." she greeted them, with a friendly smile.

No one at first reacted, every eye still riveted to Duncan Macleod. Monica sighed than walked gracefully to Duncan's side. She put a hand on his arm and leaned down to his ear. "How are you feeling today? Do you feel up to seeing your family? They're here now with you." She cajoled gently. "And I have your lunch, more jell-o, too. Strawberry this time." she smiled.

Duncan's breath rasped in his chest, He struggled to stir, he struggled to even breathe. "Monica." he gasped. "Methos, where is Methos?"

"He's here, Duncan. He's here." insisted Monica kindly. She turned to Adam Pierson without hesitation. Methos was stunned and horrified to be recognized by that name, he had the horrible suspicion that Monica was not what she seemed, she was not a nurse but an Angel come from Heaven to take his Highlander away from him. The other Immortals looked at Pierson quizzically.

"Methos is a legend." said Walter.

"He's delirious." insisted Kit.

Robert and Gina shared a look and Robert chuckled. "I crossed blades with a legend. I should have known. Monks in the 13th century, bloody hell."

Adam Pierson aka Methos, glared darkly at all of them.

Duncan called his name over and over. "Methos, where is Methos? I need to find him."

"Shhhh, Macleod, do not fret any more. I'm right here, love." said Methos gently, he decided anger could wait. Macleod was fevered and doing poorly. "Is he on any medication?" he asked Dr Lindsay as she rushed into the room with her medical team.

"Yes. We're giving him chemo at the moment."

"Cancer?" asked Richie horrified.

Connor frowned. "I don't want him on any of that medication. It kills."

Dr Ann Lindsay and Methos both turned to Connor. Anne frowned, Methos looked uncertain. "Chemo therapy has helped hundreds and even allowed for cancer to go into remission. That's all we can hope for Duncan right now. This particular cancer is deadly. With chemo he has a greater chance of survival." Ann explained.

Methos held Duncan's hand. Duncan reached for Methos' face and carefully traced the lines of it. He loved this face, loved the eyes and mouth and nose, especially the nose. Methos turned back to Macleod let Mac's hand touch his face and explore it at will. Mac's face was an open book of adoration.

"You came." he whispered painfully.

"Of course I did, love. Don't I always come back to you?" asked Methos gently. His eyes filled. "I will always come back to you. Always." He insisted fiercely.

"I was worried" pause for labored breathing. "so worried," a whisper, barely heard. "so very worried, about you."

"Don't worry so much Duncan, it ages you." Methos weakly joked.

"I don't think I am about to age any more." rasped Duncan quietly. He couldn't say the rest of it. He was exhausted and in pain. (When I close my eyes its sometimes so very hard to open them again. I hear them sometimes. I hear them, those poor people. But I hear someone, something else Methos, and its so lovely, I ache to go with them. My parents are calling to me. He finished th end of his thought out-loud. "I can't leave ye, not yet."

"Then don't leave me, don't ever leave me. Hold on to me Duncan and don't let go. Stay here, with me, forever." insisted Methos fiercely. (Don't follow those voices, I know you're hearing. Don't go with them anywhere. Stay with me. We're supposed have forever, you and I. Eternity to fight and love and laugh. Don't you do this to me Duncan. Don't die. You can't die. Why is this happening? Why?)

"Who's going to take care of yew if I'm gone?" Duncan asked weakly. "Who'll feed yew? Ye've lost weight already. Skin and bones when I met yew, skin and bones again." he whispered. "I have to stay and take care of Methos. He needs me."

Monica held his hand. "You're a good friend Duncan. He does need taking care of, doesn't he? He looks very tired. But right now we need to think of your health and your needs and to take care of you. Do you want some Jell-o?"

"Och, no, its disgusting. It makes me feel strange, and I just end up spewing it into a bucket anyway."

Monica frowned at that. Then she chuckled. "True enough. You need to rest now." she insisted gently. "And when next you wake you will be at Princeton Medical. Your cousin Connor has made many arrangements for you. All of them for the good."

Duncan sighed into sleep. "Connor always takes care of me. I've been so much trouble. So much trouble to everyone."

"No." they all protested. "Never"

Fitzcairn agreed. "Of course he's been trouble." This garnered him glares from every immortal and mortal in the room. He grinned cheekily but his eyes were wet from pain. "You've been trouble from the first moment I met you Macleod, but worth it, so worth it, laddy. You can't leave us now. We need you Duncan. You're family."

Duncan was already asleep. Methos's hand in his own. Methos and Connor accompanied the medical team and Duncan into the medical air plain. The others would meet them in New Jersey.

**Princeton, NJ**

**HOUSE M.D.**

House was intrigued in spite of himself. A man who had never had an illness in his life, nor a dental need, or any need of any kind in the medical world was suddenly and thoroughly dying.

"Its like he's breaking down at the cellular level." said Chase.

"You think he might have been exposed to something?" asked Cameron. "Some toxin or allergen of some sort."

House looked at the board of symptoms and scowled. "He's going to be gone very soon. His pain levels are off the charts, how the hell is he coping with it all? And he hasn't once asked for a single shot of morphine, that boy friend of his watches him with eyes of a hawk and even tells the nurses when to give him his meds and the pain killers."

"He holds his head while he pukes from the chemo, brushes his hair back, at least what little bit of hair he has left on the top his head. His ex-fiance and god daughter come to visit all the time. He's a nice guy, huge extended family. What could be causing him to die?" House mused.

"Is it cancer? Oncology says yes. But something else, something external was the catalyst for this. Kidnapped brutalized, exposed to something in the area he's been held as a hostage maybe. Its too bad we don't have time to go all the way across the country and take a look at the crime scene. Those cops are under foot as well."

"Well at least the family isn't trying to interfere with our work." pointed out Foreman.

"Oh, yes that's a plus. But Cutty is reigning down on my head. The family has donated more money than God. They want us to cure that clan-member of theirs. But how? His body is breaking down faster than we can keep up with." sighed House. "Its futile. They should all just accept he's dead and move on."

Every one winced at that. The hawk-eyed boyfriend, glared across the room at the insensitive jerk as he entered and caught the ending remarks.

"You're right." sneered Methos. "We should just say adios amigo, adios caramio. But we wont, we can't. I wont give up on him. How dare you just give up and say for us to give up. What kind of doctor are you?"

"That would be my question for you as well, Mr Pierson or Dr Pierson or is it Dr Matthew Benson? Cutty knows you as an old instructor of hers, and by all evidence you should be very old, as should your boyfriend and that clan of his."

Methos winced as the others looked at him quizzical and disbelief.

"You're crazy." said Methos going on the defensive. "I don't know what you think you think you know but you're nuts."

"Oh am I? Well Dr Benson you tried pretty damn hard not have photos taken of you but when you're the object of a crush mysterious pictures do show up." said House, snide.

Methos struggled with the realization that Cutty had taken his picture and the jig as they say was up for him as an Immortal. 'Why do you say that the others are like what you think I am?"

"Your eyes, the knowledge that you have, that they all have. The different languages, the different tales told to get Duncan's spirits up. Old memories to make him remember to make him want to stay with the living. But the point is, you're al being selfish. He's in agony, every day he lives, every minute he lives, he's in pain. There's no cure. But we could try transfusions from the lot of you and see what would happen. If maybe his body would be strengthened or if it would kill him."

Methos shook his head. "We can't do that. No one can have our blood or our tissue or anything of us, no DNA nothing. We can't risk our exposure or what you will do with our samples. We can't let another war of science use us for a weapon or for some miracle cure that could be the destruction of your mortal race. "

"We're not talking about the future here, Methos, if that is your name, which I am assuming it is, since Duncy-pooh always calls you by it. We're talking about the possibility of saving your lover's life, of ending his pain, or possibly making his suffering a lot shorter."

Methos jaw set, he bit down hard. House was obnoxious but he was also right.

"By saying that his suffering would be shortened your saying instant death aren't you? No, I wont do it. I wont lose him like this." hissed Methos.

"You're down to the wire Methos. He's dead no matter what you choose. But there is a possibility for life if we transfuse your "Immortal" blood into his own. Or someone with his matching blood type out of your group of clan members. it's a small possibility but you may cure him."

"No, we wont, its not how it works. Our blood doesn't do anything for anyone." insisted Methos.

"You sound as if you know this for a fact." said Chase.

Methos lowered his eyes and rubbed his nose. "Yes, I do know. I've been a doctor off an on for centuries. I've tried curing people with my blood. I've done experiments using other immortal supplies but, nothing. Whatever makes us Immortal its not in our DNA, RNA or GENETIC materials at all. Though born Immortal we haven't any parents. We don't know how we come into being. Our blood wont cure Duncan. It wont even ease his suffering." Methos voice broke and the damn of tears spilled over. "How can this hurt so much? I've seen so much watched so much, experienced hundreds of peoples deaths for hundreds of years and this still affects me this much. Sometimes I feel as if I could die from it. Fine have my blood, take whatever you need. Do whatever you want, just, please do the impossible. Save Duncan." begged Methos then fled the room and headed to Duncan's room.

Tess was there and Methos glared at her. "Why are you doing this to him? Why are you doing this to me? I thought you said you don't punish. But you are, you're punishing me by killing him. I'd trade my life for his, why wont you take my life instead of his? Why?"

Tess's large compassionate eyes filled with tears. "Baby, God is not punishing you. He's giving Duncan a gift. He's going home."

"A gift?" scoffed Methos enraged. "A gift! This is not a gift. This is torture. He's in pain. He's suffering. This is no gift. This is torment."

"I know that right now this is hard for you to believe Methos, but God loves you and He loves Duncan and it's a hard path Duncan now walks and yes its painful but Duncan's love for you keeps him bound to this place. You need to be the one to tell him that its alright for him to go. You must let him go Methos."

"NO! Never. I'll never let Duncan go." hissed Methos.

"Than its not love that you have for Duncan." she said than she disappeared between one blink of an eye and the next.

It was late in the evening, the others had gone to their hotel rooms or slept out in the waiting area, like Connor. Methos climbed into the bed with Duncan and held on to him, crushed his delicate body to his own sturdy one. Methos trailed fingers slowly and lovingly over the emaciated decimated body. This body used to be golden and strong and now it was barely flesh and bone.

"You're winnowing, like the corn from the chaff, and all that will soon be left of you is a husk of flesh. Fight Duncan, don't you die on me. Don't you die. We can't lose you. I can't lose you."

Ellison was not happy. He paced in the waiting area trying to wrap his mind around Duncan. The man hadn't aged in over a decade. He smelled wrong. He felt like a shadow of himself. The life was leaving him. Duncan was dying and their only witness in the serial kidnappings possible homicides was Duncan. Duncan hadn't even been able to identify the suspect. He was too far gone.

"Do you think Duncan's a sentinel Jim?" asked Blair quietly. "And Adam Pierson his guide?"

"No chief. Duncan's something else. The nature of him though is off. I remember him smelling different. He had a power about him Chief. A charisma, I guess you can call it. He was like a magnet. Now the powers off, the electric buzz is gone. I touched him chief back then and he always electrocuted me, little blue flecks of light always danced on my fingers when I touched him. I always just thought it was my imagination Chief. "

"But Adam Pierson has the blue electric as well as does the cousin Connor and the bunch of those people Duncan calls his family. He's really dying Blair and I don't know how to deal with it. He was so, alive, so, strong. Now he's feeble, vulnerable, weak, skeletal. He's like a death camp prisoner waiting for the chopping block."

"What are we going to do chief? Without him we can't make a case against the sicko that hurt him and that hurt all the others. The teachers that continue to be missing. Duncan knows the answers but he's dying and he has amnesia. That Dr House bastard keeps saying we should give up there' s nothing to be done for him. That Duncan's dead. His time's up. He's only got a few more days and than he's in a grave."

Blair hugged Jim close and cried for them both. "I liked Duncan. I only met him once but he was just as you described him, Jim. God, I can't believe he's dying. I can't believe this happening to him, you know. Jeese, it just seems so cruel. He manages to get away, manages to survive his ordeal with this psycho and just as he's home free his own body turns on him. It seems so unfair Jim. So unfair."

Jim hugged Blair and rocked him gently from side to side.

He didn't know he was dreaming it seemed so real. Duncan was healing. The blood transfusions had worked. Methos was overjoyed to have Mac alive and well. Macleod's memories were coming back as well. It looked like things were going to have a happy ending. They were discussing moving in with each other and even getting married. They had plans.

Yes, the trial still hung over their heads and Mac had to testify. Mac had to tell the authorities what had happened in the place he'd been held captive. Mac was reluctant to speak of the ordeal. He wanted to forget that it had ever happened. But he knew he had to.

"Methos. I get this feeling that I need to take you there. But I know if I do. Something bad's going to happen."

"Nothing bad will happen Duncan. I'm right here with you."

"All right." said Duncan quietly.

The others were with them. Major crimes too. The trip by plane went quickly, a blur, one blink and the next they were back in Cascade in a dark abandoned area. Lots of forest, and dirt hills and an abandoned factory- perhaps more like a dairy farm gone under.

Duncan's buzz had not come back to him. He seemed mortal and Methos had been willing to take a chance that he and Mac would at least have a good five decades together before his mortal life killed him, but deep down Methos wished Mac would be Immortal so they could have centuries rather than decades together.

Suddenly as the pit came into eyesight Duncan began to grow pale, almost translucent. The hold on Duncan's hand felt less material and soon his hand was gripping air. Duncan cried out in pain. Tears were in the Highlander's eyes.

"No, no, no… I thought I had escaped. Her voice told me to go to Sanctuary. She said I would be alright." his voice was a broken sob of denial.

Memories overwhelmed Duncan and Methos saw what Duncan knew and he tried to gather Macleod into his arms but Macleod was no longer substantial he was a spirit. He looked into Methos' eyes, his pain flowing to him. Duncan had met his fate bravely, had fought every minute he could, had tried to escape countless times, and had tried to save the mortals trapped in his hell with him. But everything he did was for nothing and in the end, it was the dragonhead katana that had taken his head. But Duncan's love and determination made his quickening take substance and form and though his body had not shown a sign of the abuse his soul had. His soul now his mortal body had escaped from the place of his death with amnesia and determination to see Methos again. As the understanding took hold of them both Methos felt something happening, the wind kicked up, sparks came to life, blue fire, shot up out of the ground and Macleod began to melt into the fire. White and blue flame, a quickening fire.

Methos stepped back from it, tried to run from it. He screamed in agony as the quickening swirled around him, caressing him, with Macleod's essence. A river of memories, a river of experiences, heart break and joy, unbearable pain and so much love, so much of it, all of it Duncan. It overflowed and reached out to each immortal that stood with him. It touched them all and the Highlander seemed to be saying good bye.

"No!" screamed Methos, "NO!"

Angels; Tess, Monica, and Andrew, they looked sad. Methos ran from them.

No, this couldn't be happening, this couldn't be true. Duncan was alive. Duncan had to be alive

The quickening reached into him and submerged itself winding itself all throughout his being and as his legs gave way Methos sobbed. He sobbed harder than he had ever wept before. Hands clutching at his heart and chest. He didn't want to live not without Duncan in his life. Not without the love that was supposed to be theirs in his life.

Tes stroked his hair and hugged him close to her ample bosom. "I'm sorry baby." she said. "I'm sorry that you're in so much pain. Don't be afraid Methos. Open your heart let God help you."

"God took everyone I loved away from me and forced this eternity on me." he hissed. "I can't do this. I can't keep living like this." he gasped out between sniffles and tears. "I need him. I need him."

Andrew's hand was in Duncan's hand the Dragon-Head Katana once more in its master's hands. Duncan looked at his friends at his clan. He knew it was time to go. Yet he couldn't leave Methos.

"A part of you will always reside in him Duncan." assured Andrew, gently.

"He's lived such a long time, Andrew. I thought, I had hoped, but I wasted so much time not following my heart, not following what I know. And what Methos knows is most true of all. Its never enough time. Even Immortals don't have forever. But I had wanted forever, forever with him at my side and I at his side. But I was too afraid of what people might think of me. I was too afraid to give Methos my heart. He's so much more than I am. He's got so much history and his mind is so much brighter and quicker than my own. I didn't think I would ever be enough for him. And now we'll never know. We will only ever have just a small glimpse of what we could have been. And it would have been something great."

Methos looked at the ethereal highlander. His hair was long and his clothes were that of his early days, a plaid kilt wrapped around his waist and over one shoulder over pale cloth for a shirt hand made by his mother. Armor and steel at his feet. He would walk away from all that he has been and meet his maker and wait for Methos in the afterlife.

"Duncan, don't leave me." he begged.

But Angels and spirit Macleod walked in the light of heaven and disappeared from the earth before all their eyes.

Methos held Duncan's body in his lap head and torso, it was nothing to him, but for major crimes it was pretty morbid a couple of people were throwing up. Connor was trying to reason with him. But Methos would not let go of the Highlander's remains.

"We will care for his body. I don't want doctors probing and poking him. He needs to rest in a grave in Scotland near his family"

"I agree, old one. No one other than his family will touch him, clean him and dress him and put him in his coffin and escort him home." agreed Connor. The other Immortals also agreed. They would take their fallen brethren home to his land of birth and first death.

The detectives tried to argue, tried to make them see reason. Methos pointed out the other bodies. "Use them for your evidence. You can't have Duncan."

The nightmare continued and Methos saw days go by and he felt nothing resembling human. He felt bereft. Empty. Ready to die. Yet the strand of Duncan woven into his every being urged him to continue to live.

Methos sought revenge. He hunted Duncan's murderer, days of torture still didn't seem to wipe away the pain in Methos heart.

Tess urged him to seek redemption. Urged him to find God and forgiveness. Urged him to stop embracing evil. She was weeping for him.

Methos felt his heart squeeze in pain and guilt. Duncan had suffered and where had God been? Watching from the sidelines as usual. The rage was hard to let go and he couldn't bring himself to let it go. He wanted a river of blood. He wanted to drown the pain he felt at the loss he felt. He wanted the bastards who had killed his beloved to suffer as their victims had. He wanted them to quaver and kneel and grovel at his feet utterly broken and then he would finally show them the same mercy they had shown Macleod. A sword's swipe across the neck.

"Duncan would not want this of you." said Monica. "He was a gentle soul."

"Leave me alone. Duncan's not here and you wont let me die. You took him away from me. You allowed him to suffer."

"Methos." Duncan's voice on the wind, his voice in Methos' ear, a gentle whisper, a touch of his breath on Methos' skin. "My love. Don't do this."

"Methos."

Duncan's voice. Duncan's touch. Methos squeezed his eyes closed and shuddered. The loss renewed itself and the wounds in his own heart came out in a torrent of more tears and more blood. This time Methos embedded his blade in his own heart so that he could not move to do the evil his rage beckoned him to do.

He felt strong arms wrap themselves around him and hold him. He heard that beloved voice give him forgiveness.

"Duncan." he chanted. "Duncan, oh Duncan."

"I'm here love. I'm here." answered Duncan.

Connor stood before him his own dragonhead katana at the ready. His face was a mask. He did not judge but he did pity Methos. He was going to take Methos' head and put both Methos and Duncan out of Methos misery. He would stop the blood letting.

Methos jolted awake and looked at the monitors by the bed and heard the comforting blip beep blip of the monitor. Duncan was alive, even with his quickening absent Duncan was alive and that was all that mattered. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and let his muscles relax. They ached from the intensity of his dream and from the sensations of his helplessness.

He would never lose Duncan. Not ever. And if he could prevent such a dream becoming reality he would.

Monica looked to Andrew and Tess.

"It seems so sad Tess. Does he have to go home just yet?"

"That's out of our hands angel girl." said Tess not unkindly.

Andrew was sad but adamant. "When its time, I will do as I am told to do Monica, you know that. I just hope Methos doesn't turn when that time comes. He killed so many, made so many pay for his pain. I don't want to see him do those things again."

"He will if he can't let God in." said Tess. "He's got such a complex soul and such a capacity for love, yet he can't let himself love God or love himself. He needs Duncan to verify he's worthy of love and as we all know, that's not the way it works and him with his age should know this truth as well as we do. But he hasn't learned it. He's refused to. His love for Duncan is very complex and not very healthy. Its our job to try and make that love healthy and persuade Methos to love himself and to love his Creator."

"But if Duncan dies, All chances of doing that are gone." said Monica.

"God gives us all a heavy load to bear but not so heavy that we can't bear it if we're willing to ask for help and willing to accept the help given and unasked for. We will help Methos and we will help Macleod and his clan of Immortals. That's our job and God wouldn't ask this of us if we weren't capable."

Mortality - Remembering Duncan

They sat in the quiet cafeteria each one nursing their preferred hot beverage of choice. Corey was the first to speak of something that was on all their minds. The first time they had first met or stumbled across Duncan MacLeod of the legendary Clan MacLeod.

"The first time I saw Macky Boy I thought, whooey here's a chump, good looking without much brains or so I thought at first. Maybe he'd be good in the sack, maybe that luscious dish with him wont mind sharing and we could make a pretty cute little trio. That was before Duncan sized me up and found me lacking. I was a never-do-well, a nefarious stranger who had just stolen money from the bank. I realized Mac wasn't going to take to me so I thought maybe his woman might like me, maybe wouldn't mind parting with him and trying me on for size." Corey's grin was salacious.

Amanda scowled but then her renowned impish grin surfaced. She smiled at Corey as an old lover would but held onto her current lover's hand.

"I remember." she said. "It was some of the most fun the two of us ever had."

"Mac grew on me of course and he was smart and funny and easily exasperated by the two thieves that were me and Amanda. Every time he would say "this is the last time I dig you up" and it never was."

Amanda laughed. "It was true, so true." she laughed some more until tears were shining in her eyes. Tears that turned from fun memory to sudden despair. "It never was the last time though. We were not there for him this time were we Corey? Who dug him up out of the ground when that mortal killed him? How much suffering did he go through before the end?"

Nick wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly to his chest. "Its not your fault Amanda. This is no body's fault but the sicko that thought it was fun to play his sick little game. You and Corey and all the rest having nothing to feel guilt over." he insisted.

"He kept digging us up. Guilt. Being a good guy. That's what kept him out there digging us up every time we got ourselves killed. But damn if it wasn't fun. He never gave up on trying to talk sense into us Amanda. God I wish I had been there for him this time. I wish I had been there." Corey tapped down on his own tears. He tried to keep them at bay. They burned. He scrubbed at his eyes feeling helpless. Matthew's arm went around his student's shoulders in a brotherly hug.

"Watching Macleod finally lose his temper is an amazing sight. I was half in love with him. Even if he'd been without Amanda I'd probably have chosen to travel with him for a ways. Maybe we would have ended up being more than to each other than what we are today, friends. I rubbed him the wrong way I always did. But I thought it was funny. I thought maybe I could help him lighten up a little. I would have liked to have been more. But I knew even back then I never had a chance. He never looked at me the way he looked at you Amanda, or even the way he looks at the old timer."

Matthew held his student in his arms for a while as Corey grieved. "He's actually dying Matthew. He's dying."

Some time passed by and soon sniffles turned to quiet murmurs and further riminisquing.

It became Walter's turn to remember his first time meeting Duncan Macleod.

"He was incredible from an aesthetic point of view. He was handsome, even girlishly lovely. When I saw him haggling down the price of a bit of fruit I said to myself that is my shrew. That vision is my dear Kate!"

Amanda's tears turned to laughter. "Its true. He was always trying to get the best price for everything."

The others burst into incredulous or genuine amusement. Walter waited for the laughter to die down a little before continuing. He was an actor after all, pauses were always necessary in a good story telling.

"I followed him for a time, trying to get up my nerve to speak to him about my troupe of actors."

"You stalked him, you mean" said Connor, not amused.

Walter frowned. Claudia smirked.

"He called you a madman, said he didn't have the heart to put you out of his or anyone else's misery." Agreed Amanda, teasing, yet there was something in her eyes that stated she was more serious than joking.

"That is not how it happened!" protested Walter weakly.

Memory

"I'll noht pay a half pence more!" cried the scot.

The stall keeper and fruit farmer scowled but in the end shook on it.

Dark glossy curling locks caught the light and bedazzled Walter Graham's eye. The quickening was serene, if one could describe the usually angry hum such a thing. This was obviously a new Immortal but a powerful one. Walter lost his breath when the face turned to study the market looking for the source of the answering quickening hum. Walter skipped back into the shadows. Timing was everything and right now Walter was not adequately decked out to make a good impression. He had to freshen up, fill his purse with coppers and go wine and dine the beauty that had come into town.

It took more than three weeks of following Macleod around town, finding out all that he could about the man from the inn keeper to the places he visited daily, he grew more and more infatuated with Duncan. Duncan was a little rough around the edges but he had potential. He had a kind disposition and he chose to find peaceful means before reluctantly turning to fighting.

MacLeod was charming and beautiful.

Their relationship was a whirlwind summer fling that turned from passion to friendship.

End Memory

"You're joking." gasped Claudia. "Macleod's the most straightest man, I've ever met. He practically secretes heterosexuality."

Connor frowned thoughtfully. "True, but Duncan follows his heart and has never let the outer shell stand in his way."

Many at the table looked at Connor with dawning realization.

"So, how many men has he slept with?" asked Kit our of curiosity. Some events standing out in his own memory and mind, most currently that mesh shirt of Duncan's that had been very eye catching.

"About two, I think, maybe three. He loves women mostly but every now and again he finds his heart caught by a man and as I said he follows his heart." said Connor, quietly.

Connor remembering his first time hearing of the rumors of another like himself born in the same clan as he. This one a chieftain's son. The MacLeods were cursed said the rumors.

"He was wild, untamed. He'd been shunned by the clan and living in exile much like I had been, nearly a hundred years, previously. He was like a wounded doe; timid, curious, yet brave. He is not a solitary person by nature and being alone was probably the most frightening, as well as the most painful thing, he'd ever experienced. When I took him as my student I never thought I would love him so much. But as time went on he became very precious to me. I could not bare that he be hurt or that another would take his head. I knew the dangers of such strong emotions and knew I had to start distancing myself from him. He was all the family, all the kin, all the clan I would ever have."

Duncan was slipping back into coma. There was little the doctors could do and nothing that Methos could do to keep him from going into that dark realm of endless sleep. Helplessly he sat by the bed and held Duncan's hand in his. After some time the nurse suggested he go to the cafeteria and get something to eat.

Inside the cafeteria door he felt them all and saw them gathered as if for some wake or memorial each one sharing some little story some little observation of the dying MacLeod.

Not since the horseman days had Methos felt the rage sneak up on him. The sense of helplessness through the centuries overwhelmed him and he struck Connor Macleod first. The brawl was intense and soon it was four against one, but no blades were drawn.

This was unfair. This wasn't right! Raged Methos. He couldn't lose Duncan and how dare they just sit here in this cafeteria and relate memories as if it were a wake or memorial.

How dare they!

He was out of his mind with rage and grief. He fought until he could not raise a fist or bite or kick another Immortal. All four men piled on top of him and would not let him go. The tears choked him. The grief constricted in his chest tot he point he thought he would die his heart hurt so much.

"Duncan's not dead yet. I can't give up on him yet. No one should give up on him yet. Don't treat him like this. Don't think about him like this. He's not dead yet. He's not dead." he wept.

The first time he'd met Macleod it was the oddest moment in his entire 5k years. It wasn't that he hadn't been hunted before, just not under his real name, at least not in a thousand or so years anyway. He had never felt the vibe that ran through him at the sight of Macleod. He couldn't quite say it was instant trust. After all he was a cynical survivor and trust was not a nature he had cultivated in himself, not if he had wanted to survive the game and to survive life in general.

Mac was a breath of fresh air in a library that hadn't had a window opened in quite some time. A cleansing cooling air that breathed fresh life into the room and in to the people inhabiting it while removing the old stuffy air that had built up and had made them sleepy and compliant within the sheltered library. Mac was passion and fire. He was new, idealistic, and kind, oh and easily taken advantage of. He was naïve and young and Methos had felt that Duncan would fall soon unless he grew stronger and less trusting of others.

Duncan had become precious to him. So precious so quickly that it was not something Methos was familiar with. His heart was not quick to love though it was quick to take advantage. He had loved Alexa instantly as he had all of his wives before her but with Immortals love never came to him that quickly, maybe because Methos' heart knew better. But with Duncan it had been different. From the moment Duncan had entered his apartment and taken the beer he'd tossed at him he'd known he would love Duncan above all others and forever.

"I can't lose him like this. I can't lose him." Methos rocked on the cold floor. Mortals and Immortals watched over him afraid for his mental state.

Sandberg gently coaxed the distraught scholar to a table near where the others sat. Blair had watched the fight come on fast and then die out just as fast. He was stunned at how fast it all had gone down. Adam Pierson fought dirty and vicious, Connor Macleod had kept his own, but just barely. If it hadn't been for the others Connor would have fallen to the older guy's fists.

"I forgive you Adam." grunted Connor, carefully cleansing the cut on his lip before it healed. He hid it from the mortals and excused himself from the room to get an icepack for his bruises.

Methos didn't hear him he was lost in his memories. Lost in the pain of hopelessness and despair. He had wasted so much time dancing with Macleod that they had never said the words to one another never acted on the love in their hearts for one another and now it seemed they would never get the chance.

Tragedy.

He had known better. If love comes your way don't dicker around with it, embrace it, accept it, act on it before its too late. Time was never enough. Decades, centuries, it could all end so quickly. A twist of fate's tricky hand and you die.

Methos had known that lesson and knew it very well. He had learned it over and over and over again for five thousand years and yet it seemed he hadn't learned it half as well as he thought he had.

TBC


End file.
